Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 148

Chapter 143: Reaching Out To Miss Peterson

Sedona’s POV

The light came in the same way it always had, through the open window, filtered by the white curtains casting a warm golden glow on my bed, table and other things in the room.

That was the thing about childhood bedrooms-the light didn’t change. Whatever else shifted across the years, what else one went through either in a good way or a bad way, the morning light in your childhood bedroom came in at the same angle it had always come in, hit the same wall, made the same shape.

. I’d been watching this particular rectangle of light since I was seven years old, had watched it from positions of happiness and misery and boredom and terror and now from the position of someone who’d come back from something and was trying to understand what came next.

It was six forty-eight in the morning.

I knew this without checking my phone, because the light told me, it was in a specific way that told me that this was just the first version and soon the brighter version would show up at seven fifteen, that’s the time my mum always checked up on me to start preparing for school,

I’d been awake since six.

Not anxiously, or worried that I wasn’t able to sleep well, no I slept well despite the crazy night I had the night before with Logan proving he was more stubborn than he looks and luckily having two knights in shining armours ready to stand behind me not even demanding explanations.

I was just awake, in the way of someone whose body had made the decision to focus toward living and was taking the decision seriously, processing the days as they arrived rather than bracing for them.

I’d been thinking about Catherine.

The phone call had been eleven days ago. I hadn’t told anyone-not Cameron, not my mother, not Rachel, not Dante who came every morning with food and the comfortable presence of someone who’d decided that showing up was simply what he did. I’d held the call by myself, in the specific way you held things you weren’t ready to share yet, turning it over in the quiet hours.

‘He barely mentions-‘

The stopped sentence that still shot phantom pains into my heart because it was something that was hard to swallow even though I had been anticipating the day that i would be a thing of the past in his life. The one she’d caught before it finished, the one I’d been finishing for her in my head across eleven days.

I also thought about what she said about Logan and why he had come. Because he wanted people to not assume he was bad and he was just doing the generic duties that came with being married, not that he cared personally.

I’d been turning that over. Testing it. Logan’s motivations were complicated and I didn’t have clean access to them and I’d made the decision not to base anything on Catherine’s version of Logan’s motivations because Catherine’s version of Logan’s motivations served Catherine in ways that were not difficult to identify. And with what he had done yesterday, he didn’t look like someone who looked worried about me but more frustrated that I had disrupted what he had been used to and wanted me back in my position which was a bitter pill to swallow but I had promised myself not to bother about Logan, and focus more on my son.

But the other thing.

Three days ago, Cameron brought up the incident about the garden.

I picked up my phone.

I didn’t call Logan’s number. I hadn’t called Logan’s number since before I’d left Chicago and I wasn’t starting now.

Mrs. Peterson’s number I had memorized the same way I had the landline, because Mrs Peterson was someone who had helped me daily to look over Nick and I’d dialed it often enough that it lived in my fingers. Three years of checking in about Nick’s school schedule, about his inhaler supplies, about whether there was anything at the pharmacy that needed collecting.

Reaching Out To Mics Peterson

It was seven-fifteen. The light had shifted into the brighter version.

t knew from three years of household rhythms that Mrs. Peterson would be in the kitchen.

That was her seven fifteen coffee made, Nick’s breakfast being assembled, the day starting with the particular organized efficiency that was simply how she moved through a morning.

I pressed call.